giving the positions.
“How?s he doing?” I yelled, unable to make one horse from the other on the backstretch.
“Off the rail and fourth going into the turn,” Callahan yelled. “Got a bad break coming out of the
gate... making tip for it. . . Scoot?s laying it on.. . on the outside now, moving into third. Scoot isn?t
letting him out full yet. . . passing the three-quarter post. . . Scoot still holding him back. . . running
him to win, all right. Not gonna let him out until the stretch. . . there he goes into third place. . . he?s
moving for the inside now.
I could see the horses clearly as they came around the clubhouse turn. Disaway was running hard,
challenging the two horse, Johnny?s Girl. I could feel the excitement of the crowd as they started
down the last five hundred yards.
Callahan continued his running commentary.
“He?s on the rail now... pushing for second. He?s a nose out of second place now. . . and Scoot?s
letting him out! Look at that horse go! Damn, does he like that mud.
Disaway nosed past the two horse and challenged the leader. I could feel the thunder of their hoofs as
they stormed toward the finish line, the jockeys? livid colours splattered with mud.
Callahan?s voice began to rise as he, too, was caught up in the excitement of the finish.
“Disaway?s going for it. They?re neck and neck coming down the stretch, and there he goes, he?s
pulling away, he?s got the lead by a head and romping.”
Suddenly Callahan stopped for a second, and then he cried out, “Jesus!”
As they approached the wire, Disaway suddenly swerved away from the rail and headed diagonally
across the track, his left front leg dangling crazily as he made the erratic move. The two horse behind
him tried to cut inside but it was too late. They collided, hard, neck on neck. Disaway was thrown
back toward the rail as the two horse went down, chin into dirt, rolling over its hapless jockey.
Disaway was totally out of control and Impastato was trying vainly to keep him on his feet, but the
three horse was charging for the wire and they hit with a sickening thud. Scoot Impastato was vaulted
from the saddle, spinning end over end into the rail, followed immediately by Disaway. The rail
shattered and Disaway, Impastato, the three horse and jockey, and the horse behind it all went down
in a horrifying jumble of legs and torsos and racing colours and mud.
The crowd shrieked in horror.
Then, just as suddenly, it was deathly still.
From the infield I heard a voice cry out, “Get him off me, please get him off me!”
One of the horses was trying to get up, its legs scrambling in the dirt.
One of the three jocks was on his knees, clawing at his safety helmet.
